


The Librarian's Assistant

by Beleriandings



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-11
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-08 08:32:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1130496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beleriandings/pseuds/Beleriandings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maeglin, newly arrived in Gondolin, wants to learn a little more about the city and its people, so he visits the city's great library. There he makes an acquaintance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Librarian's Assistant

Maeglin opened the library doors tentatively, breathing in the scent of ink and paper and dust, the hush falling heavy on his ears. He looked up at the vast dome above, then at the labyrinth of shelves before him, lined with books. There was a scattering of scholars searching amongst the stacks or writing, but none of them even spared him a moment’s glance, their eyes remaining fixed on the scrolls and heavy tomes placed on the desks around them. Maeglin frowned, wondering where to start. He was hesitating on the threshold, briefly considering turning tail and leaving the library, to return another day, when he heard a quiet voice at his side.

“May I help you?”

 

Maeglin turned. The speaker was young, although older than Maeglin himself, and rather tall, on the scrawny side of slender. He had short, tousled hair the colour of wheat, and was carrying a precarious-looking stack of papers. He had an open face and smiled genially at Maeglin, his eyes bright and curious.

“Yes, I’d like to borrow some books” said Maeglin, gesturing around somewhat lamely. He could feel himself blushing, and cursed his childish words. “I’m Maeglin, by the way, King Turgon’s nephew.”

“Ah, but of course you are!” said the stranger cheerfully, scrutinising his face closely. “Forgive me. The news has been all around the city, but I don’t tend to listen to the gossips if I can avoid it. But still,” his face grew solemn. “I am sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you” said Maeglin, feeling a pang at the mention of the subject. “But… do you know… is there some sort of catalogue here? I should like to learn more about the city.” He tilted his head doubtfully. “Is there anyone I can ask, perhaps?”

The stranger smiled again. “You can ask me! I’m the assistant to the head librarian here. I’m a scribe in all but name, really” he smiled ruefully. “Although one with literary pretentions, as my charming brother puts it.” He extended a hand for Maeglin to shake, the stack of papers tilting dangerously as he shifted their weight onto his other arm. “My name’s Pengolodh, by the way.”

“Pleased to meet you” said Maeglin politely, shaking his hand.

“And you. Now, what sort of a book did you have in mind?”

 ——-

A few minutes later they were in Pengolodh’s office, the pile of paper having been handed to Maeglin and replaced by a stack of books from the main reading room. Pengolodh set them on the desk, busying himself boiling a cast-iron kettle over the meagre fire.

“If you want to learn more about the history of city, this should be a good start” he told Maeglin, handing him a heavy leather-bound tome. “ _The Foundation of Gondolin_ , written by my own father. Not that I’m biased” he grinned. “Of course, you could just ask your uncle” Maeglin opened his mouth to speak, but Pengolodh interrupted him before he could begin. “Don’t worry, I know you probably don’t want to trouble him with enough questions to fill several books right now. Not with circumstances as they are.”

“Yes” said Maeglin, somewhat gratefully. “Not to mention…” he felt suddenly very young and uneducated. “I… I feel I should have learned more. As a child. My father forbade me to read about the Noldor, my own people. My mother told me stories, but…” he trailed off, embarrassed.

“Don’t worry!” Pengolodh smiled warmly. He took the kettle from the fire, placing some tea leaves into two cups and pouring water over them, before handing one to Maeglin. “Here we have historians aplenty. You’ll want to start at the beginning - ” he placed a small, battered-looking volume in Maeglin’s hands. “ _The Great Journey._  Written in Valinor and brought across the Ice, you know. Be careful with it, the binding is fragile.”

“I will.”

Pengolodh frowned, climbing onto a step stool and deftly avoiding tripping over the somewhat frayed hem of his scholar’s robe. He ran his hands along the spines of the books that lined the walls even here, casting back his wide sleeves, which had been let out recently and were now, Maeglin noticed, just a little too long for him. He regarded the bookshelves critically, and then looked back at Maeglin, who was sipping his tea. “How’s your Tengwar?”

Maeglin grimaced. “Basic. Serviceable, but not polished at all. It was forbidden in Nan Elmoth, although my mother taught me the basics. We had to burn my practice sheets.”

Pengolodh smiled, taking down a book, his eyes sparkling.

“The seminal text, by Fëanor himself. You may find it a little dense, but it’s worth it. I’ll give you a practice book too, if you like.”

“Thank you” said Maeglin. “Do you have anything on recent history? Anything about the Noldor?”

“Of course” said Pengolodh, turning to back to the pile of books he had brought from the main reading room. “Here you are.  _Of The Flight of the Noldor_. The prose is fair in that one, but it’s a horribly biased source, and it has a few inconsistencies.” He was smiling enthusiastically now. “It’s a topic that interests me actually. One day I might well have a go at writing my own chronicle of some kind, except with better fact-checking. Not that I’m anything more than an amateur really.” His face was slightly wistful, Maeglin thought. Suddenly unsure of what to say, he concentrated on his tea, curling his fingers around the cup and draining the rapidly cooling liquid as he watched Pengolodh enquiringly. Then Pengolodh seemed to come back to the present, piling more books into Maeglin’s arms, seemingly at random. “ _Tirion: A Personal View of the City on a Hill. Climate and Weather of Beleriand. Elements of Architecture in Gondolin. Gemcraft for Beginners. The Extraction of Metals._ ” He paused and looked at Maeglin over the now large pile of books. “Do you like novels?”

“I love them” admitted Maeglin. Stories had always been a favourite of his. “But for now, I think I have enough to be going on with.”

Pengolodh gently straightened the teetering stack of books for him. “Of course you do. But come back for more whenever you feel want to, for I should like to see you again.” His face brightened. “Maybe next time you’d like to read something I wrote myself?” Then he blushed. “If you want. It’s all very amateur, really.”

“No, I’d love to!” replied Maeglin sincerely.

Pengolodh beamed and gave an awkward half-bow. “Until the next time, Prince Maeglin.”

Maeglin started a little at the title, but kept his composure, returning the bow as best he could whilst holding the pile of books. “Until the next time.”


End file.
